Do You Proud
by Son Rhandi
Summary: Terry the Kid's father (aka Terryman) dies, and as expected, he doesn't handle the news very well. Mantaro (Kid Muscle) helps him cope. Rated PG for some swearing.


****

Disclaimer: I don't own Ultimate Muscle/Kinnikuman II. It'd be cool if I did, though. 

****

Notes: 

1) I've discovered that I really like Terry the Kid, which is surprising to me, considering that I've been going crazy for Jaeger recently. (That is, until I saw his nasty hair. Eww.) Another Terry fic for you. 

2) Harabote=Vance McMadd. Please refer to my other Terry Kenyan fic, "Texas-style Chili" for more original names VS dub if you should need it.

3) To Xaphania: I'll attempt a Kevin fic, but it may be a while for me to think something up.

****

Do You Proud 

By Son Rhandi

He never much liked flannel, only wore it because his mother bought the shirts for him. The one he had on was purely of his own choosing, red stripes on white, his father's favorite. Terry looked in his full-length mirror, not in a straight-on view--he never looked straight into the glass--but turned sideways a bit, enough to see himself from the corner of his eye without much effort. The lad cleared his throat and fixed his collar, then proceeded to groom the stray hairs of his partial mullet back into place. His room was all packed up, nothing left but the stuff too big to take with him: The desk, the chest of drawers, the bed, of course. He'd call Gazelle Man and Seiuchin over to help with those later. Mantaro would probably stumble across some way to break them, so he was out. 

It had been rather abrupt, his mother calling international and leaving a message with Meat, saying it was urgent. He'd been training in Japan with the rest of the Earth Team when he got it. Despite Harabote's chiding on the ü ber-long distance charges, he got through well enough. 

"Hey, mama. Y'left a message a little while ago, sayin' it was urgent? What's the problem?"

He dropped the receiver as soon as he heard the news. 

"Hey, Terry! Terry!" Then came Mantaro, that pig-faced man-child, in his usual whiny voice. "Quit hoggin' the phone! I want to order some beef bowls!" The absence of a western flavor prompted him to try again. "Hey, Terry? Did you hear me?" Mantaro clutched his shoulder and spun him around. "Ter--"

The Texan met him wide-eyed, tears streaming down his face. Mantaro blinked. He didn't think Terry **could** cry... The blonde-haired young man pushed him aside and bolted out of the training area, drawing the attention of the rest of the Muscle Leaguers as he made his exit. "Terry? Terry, wait!" 

"What did you do **now**, Kid?" Meat sighed.

"I didn't do anything! Terry just... I don't know... He was crying, and..." Mantaro shrugged. 

"Cryin', huh? We should probably go see if he's okay. I'll get Gazelle Man and Seiuchin."

________________________________________________________

"GET OUT!!" A 25-pound weight flew by Seiuchin's head.

"Terry, what's wrong? Mantaro said you were crying, and---"

"GET THE HELL OUT!!" He threw a vase, --courtesy of a fan--it smashing against the wall and causing the talking pinniped to cringe a bit, Gazelle Man beside.

"Terry, this is no way to act!" Yelled the crimson buck over the din. "We're only trying to help y--"

The vase had a twin, the red gazelle noted as he ducked the porcelain assault, its fragments falling to the floor. There was no way to get through to him in his current emotional state, so the two beast men retreated to Mantaro and his manager. As soon as the door clicked shut, the Texan sunk to his bed, his sweaty hands clutching his off-white jeans, and sobbed uncontrollably. He heaved in and out for life-giving oxygen, in danger of hyperventilation. And then, he gagged a bit, then found himself vomiting all over his chest and lap, smelling mainly of meat and potatoes. In whatever way, that seemed to calm him enough to recall it again: The dreaded phone call, the hurt in his mother's voice, and then...

Terry wrapped his arms around himself and laid his body on the bed. "...Daddy... Oh, Daddy......" He repeated over and over again, the sound of his quiet sobbing bringing himself to a numbing sleep. 

________________________________________________________

It was in the headlines all over the Earth papers the next morning, 'Terryman Dies at 51', or something to that amount. It was impossible to escape it. Everywhere a body turned, the reports of his father's death were right there. The old wrestling fans sobbed with that boy, expressing their sadness in the streets. The IWF closed that day to pay respects to the legendary wrestler.

"So, this is what yesterday was about. Poor kid......" Meat's brow furrowed as he read the full report.

"Yeah, " managed Seiuchin between bites, a breakfast of salmon, his usual. "Do you think we should try to talk to him again?"

"You go this time, Mantaro." Gazelle Man took a sip of his coffee, black like his eyes. "Cold as I may sound, I'm in no mood to dodge any of his belongings today. Bring him some food, too. I'll bet anything he didn't eat last night."

"Um, alright..." He made his way to Terry's room, a continental breakfast plate in his hand. "Ohhhh...... What am I supposed to say..?" Mantaro whined, unconsciously taking a bite of the croissant. "I mean, I'm nobody's shoulder to lean on." He took a swig of orange juice. "Why is it that I have to be the one to do this?" Another bite, another swig... Reaching his destination, the young Kinnikuman rapped lightly at the door. "Terry..? Terry?" He tried the knob, unlocked, and let himself in.

The place was a mess from yesterday. He was careful of his steps as pieces of vases were strewn toward the front of the room. "Terry? You here, buddy?" Mantaro inquired. Farther down, he spied a door cracked open a bit and proceeded to it. "Terry?" The door creaked as he poked his head through. In there was, indeed, 'the Kid' himself, his back to Mantaro. "Hey, Terry. Terry," he whispered, attempting to rouse his teammate from slumber. The Texan groaned and shifted a bit, then rolled to face. His eyes, red and puffy, fluttered open and he turned to the pig-faced prince. "Oh. Hey, Mantaro." He smiled. 

"Hi," Mantaro replied, smiling back. "I brought you some br--" He stopped mid-sentence, looking at the plate and discovering that he'd eaten half the croissant and guzzled all the orange juice. "Um, never mind." He grinned, embarrassed. The young Kinnikuman took a seat at the foot of Terry's bed. "So...... Is everything okay..?"

"Aw, hell. You can tell just by lookin' at me that it ain't," came the Texan's reply. "If anything, it's probably all over the news by now..."

Mantaro looked down at his feet. "...I'm sorry.... about your father....."

"Heh. How do ya like that? My dad's dead and **you're** the one who's sorry..." Terry sat up. "I was always... real horrible to 'im..." He sighed. "Never **was** much of a son, but he loved me, anyway. His birthday was comin' up, y'know. I was plannin' to go back home and tell 'im..." He cleared his throat. "Tell 'im I was sorry, that things'd be different between us..."

The prince extended his arm to place a hand on his ailing friend's shoulder, but decided against it. He noticed the vomit, dried from the long, night hours, staining both his shirt and pants. "...I can have those washed for you, if you want."

"Huh? Oh. Okay. I need to take a shower anyway." The Texan disrobed, handing his clothes to Mantaro. "Just leave 'em on the bed when they're done. Thanks..."

"No problem, Terry."

________________________________________________________

It had taken thirty minutes to wash and twenty to dry when he returned with Kenyan's clothing. With Meat's help, he'd managed to get the stains out without shrinking them. The door still unlocked, Mantaro showed himself in and headed to Terry's bedroom to deliver his garments. The sound of running water caught his ear as he passed the bathroom door. _It's been nearly an hour and he's still in the shower?_ "Terry?" He called, knocking on the door. After a few more hard knocks, he checked the knob. Unlocked, like the entrance. He expected to be hit by steam, but... nothing. It wasn't even humid in there...

"Are you okay, Terry?" He pulled back the curtain. Sitting in the basin, nude, wet, and shivering, was the infamous Terry the Kid, knees pulled up to his chest. He looked to his teammate, briefly, before looking away and giving a sniffle. Mantaro turned off the water and grabbed a nearby towel, wrapping it around his shoulders. 

Terry broke down completely at that point. He buried his face in Mantaro's chest, quietly crying in the same manner as the night before. It was a little awkward for him, that prince of wrestling, to be in that sort of position. But, in a few moments, the hands that put a drying cloth on the Kid's naked shoulders soon found themselves embracing him as he sobbed a million sobs...

A week later, the service was held in his state of Texas. He had apologized to Gazelle Man and Seiuchin for his outburst that day and asked if they would come with him, along with Mantaro. They agreed without hesitation. The funeral itself was private, just him and his mother. The minister, too. The others went to the memorial service in Dallas, where every wrestler, old and new, came to pay their respects. His mother told him, when all was said and done, that she'd decided to sell the ranch. Well, it was a decision made by both herself and the dearly departed, truthfully. The buyers were already lined up. All that was left was to find a decent offer. In any case, she'd need help moving things out. 

________________________________________________________

The shirt was enormous on him. Terryman was a fellow with some girth to him, and the gene's from his mother's side made him too lean to ever match. He didn't care, just tucked it in as best he could and kept going. For so many years, he wanted to stand apart from his father, show the world that he was his own person. Now, he just wanted to remember him, what little good times they had together.

"Daddy," he began, looking to the ceiling. "I know it's a little late, but... I just wanna say I'm sorry, real sorry 'bout everything. I never hated you, just frustrated, was all. In my mind you were... the best damned wrestler in the universe. I just wanted everyone else to see it, too... You didn't think like that, though, so I figured if you didn't want it, I'd have to want it for you. But... that wasn't good of me, was it..? Just caused us a lot of pain. Well, not much I can do to correct it now, but I promise, when I have a son, I'll make sure he don't grow up t' be a big knucklehead like I did." He chuckled after that last part. "Until then, though, I'll just keep wrestlin' and make you an' Ma proud. See you later, but just between you an' me, I hope it ain't no time soon."

"Terry?" His mother entered, then gasped. She stood there for a few moments, then breathed a sigh. "Oh, you look just like your daddy wearin' that shirt. I thought for a minute..." She chuckled, her eyes shimmering with tears.

"It's okay, Ma. I know."

He scooped his mother up in his arms and gave her a son's loving hug, and for once in his life, he was actually happy to be compared to his father.


End file.
